


people talk shit (but we don't listen)

by istajmaal



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Grinding, Handcuffs, M/M, Marking, Porn with Feelings, Sub Louis, louis is upset by twitter drama and then they have sex, that's it that's the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istajmaal/pseuds/istajmaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis doesn't ask for this often—he's usually more than content to be the one doing the cuffing—but when he does, it’s because he needs—something, to take the edge off, to remind himself that he is not @Louis_Tomlinson. Something he only trusts Harry to give him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	people talk shit (but we don't listen)

**Author's Note:**

> because i'm upset by Recent Events and the only way i know how to process emotions anymore is by writing porn. thanks for that, you fucking enablers.
> 
> tumblr: [thepreviousquestion](http://thepreviousquestion.tumblr.com/)

Harry has some idea what to expect when he gets home, because he’s been texting with Louis since before he’d gotten on the phone with PR about deleting the tweet that had thousands of fans up in arms, but Louis can be unpredictable when he’s pissed off about something. Harry half-expects to find Louis setting fire to something in the yard when he pulls into the drive coming from dinner with his friends, but Louis’s not outside. He’s also not sitting in the living room sulking and listening to grunge, or in the kitchen singlehandedly consuming the results of Harry’s daylong baking extravaganza. 

Harry finds Louis sitting cross-legged on their bed, in one of Harry’s t-shirts and a bright blue pair of briefs, shoulders hunched as he scrolls through something on his phone in the dimly-lit room. It’s more worrying than all of the other possibilities Harry had entertained combined.

“Hey,” he says. He pulls his jumper over his head and tosses it in the hamper.

“Hey,” Louis says, but he doesn’t look up. Harry loses his jeans as well, so that he’s just wearing a t-shirt and black briefs, and crawls into bed next to him. He leans back against the headboard and puts a careful arm around Louis until he shuts off his phone’s screen.

"I don't even know who this motherfucker is," Louis says without leaning back into Harry. “But apparently he's an asshole." He pauses. "And apparently I'm an asshole too."

"Put it away,” Harry says. He closes his hand around Louis’s where he’s clutching at the phone. He hooks his chin over Louis’s shoulder. “Lou," he whispers in his ear.

Louis puts the phone face-down on the bed. “I’m just—I’m so _done_ with this,” he says. He rests his back against Harry’s arm but doesn’t rest his head on his shoulder. “We're not even _working_ and...” He looks out the window.

"Shh.” Harry kisses the side of Louis’s head and tightens his grip around his shoulders until Louis relaxes into it. “I know, just…” He doesn’t really have any comforting words, though, none that Louis won’t know are lies. It sucks. Their situation sucks.

“Wanna take your mind off it,” Harry mutters. He settles his hand on the warm skin of Louis’s stomach under his shirt. Louis shivers. “Can I?”

Louis closes his eyes and inhales. Harry kisses the side of his mouth and then pulls away to wait for an answer.

"Yeah,” Louis says after a minute. His gaze flickers across the room again, though. Harry follows the line of his eyes to the handcuffs that had ended up on the dresser after Louis had fucked Harry bent over it. When he looks back at Louis, Louis is regarding him carefully. He bites his lip, looks quickly down at his hands, then looks back up and raises an eyebrow.

Harry’s stomach suddenly turns and his face feels hot. Louis doesn't ask for this often—he's usually more than content to be the one doing the cuffing—but when he does, it’s because he needs—something, to take the edge off, to remind himself that he is not @Louis_Tomlinson. Something he only trusts Harry to give him. 

"Yeah?" Harry says quietly, feeling his voice drop by several registers. Louis looks down at his hands again. Harry kneels in front of him and cups both of his cheeks in his hands. "Want daddy to make you feel good?"

The first couple times they’d tried this, that was the part where Louis’s face had contorted in red laughter and he’d had to spend hours convincing a pouting Harry that it wasn’t his fault; it was just, there were certain things that Louis wanted but didn’t know how to want. Now, Louis’s pupils dilate. He scoots down the mattress a little and nods, so slightly it might be to himself.

Harry retrieves the handcuffs and straddles Louis’s legs. He fingers over the metal carefully. Louis mumbles something that might be _shit_ as he sinks the rest of the way down to the mattress so that he’s looking up at Harry towering over him, lips slightly parted, phone forgotten on the comforter.

“Gotta ask nicely, baby,” Harry says. He eyes Louis’s phone and thinks about moving it but Louis’s breathing is getting shallow and Harry doesn’t want to break this thing they’ve got going, this magnetism that’s making Louis shiver even as Harry only ghosts his hands over Louis’s clothed torso, keeping a watchful eye on his fattening cock in his briefs.

Louis looks pained by the request. “Please,” he mumbles. Harry doesn't react. Louis closes his eyes. "Harry..."

Harry pulls his hand away from Louis’s chest and leans away from Louis, sitting back on his heels. Louis groans. “Please,” he says. He inhales sharply as Harry fingers the bottom of his shirt without making any move to pull it off him. “Daddy, _please_.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut again like he can’t watch Harry listen to him say it.

“Good boy,” Harry says softly. Louis doesn’t laugh. “Lift up.” Harry tugs on Louis’s shirt and he lifts himself far enough off the bed that Harry can pull it over his head and toss it over the side of the bed. Harry locks the cuffs around Louis’s wrists before he gets the chance to move them back to his sides.

"Anything for you, baby,” Harry says, voice barely above a whisper. He hovers over Louis’s mostly-naked body and feels every centimeter separating Louis’s bare chest from his acutely. He nuzzles against Louis’s cheek. "I'll take care of you."

Louis exhales slowly as Harry straightens up to pull his own shirt over his head. Harry doesn’t move back down over Louis’s body immediately, though. Instead, he keeps rubbing his thumbs in circles over Louis’s hips in his briefs. He watches Louis’s chest rise and fall and get glimmery with sweat, watches his cock fill to hardness so close to Harry’s crotch it’s physically tiring to keep himself from grinding down into him and getting them both all the way there. After a long minute, Louis lets out a whimper from behind his pursed lips and opens his eyes again, finally. He turns his head up from the pillow in an unasked question. It strains his neck a little; his hands jostle in the cuffs and it makes his breath hitch.

“Relax, Lou, baby," Harry says. He scratches down Louis’s chest too softly to leave a mark. “You’re just so pretty like this, love.” Louis hums and settles his head against the pillow again. “Wanna look at you.”

Louis rocks his hips up slightly, as if to say _here’s something you could look at_. Harry lets out a _tsk_ of disapproval, swatting at Louis’s hip, and Louis’s whole body shivers.

There’s something here that feels deeply familiar—not the daddy kink, though that might be the immediate reason for Harry’s toes curling, _god_. But Harry and Louis in their pants, nearly overwhelmed by just the closeness of each other and the possibility under their fingertips—it feels old, like nostalgia, like hands pressed over mouths to keep from waking others, like summer nights in a cramped tent on a leaky air mattress. Harry wants to hold onto that feeling more than he wants anything else in the world.

Harry stretches out over Louis again, chest just barely skimming over chest. “Think you can do something for me, baby?" he purrs into Louis’s ear, trailing his fingertips over the hairs of Louis’s underarm like he’s discovering them for the first time, like he’s amazed by every one.

“Want you to show me how good you can make yourself feel." Harry slides his thigh between Louis's so that their clothed cocks are aligned. Louis’s rock-hard now—nothing gets him hard like this, being tied up and _cared for_ , not having a choice except to be cared for, and nothing gets Harry hard like Louis. "Want you to come in your pants, like a teenager." With every breath Harry’s abdomen is pressing into Louis’s. He runs his thumb over Louis’s lower lip and Louis lets him pull on it, so his mouth is hanging uselessly open. "Can you do that for me, baby?” Harry kisses along the line of Louis’s jaw. “Come in your pants for daddy?"

Louis positively whimpers at that and his hips jerk up again. Harry lets go of Louis’s lip and nips at the sensitive spot just below his ear. “Gotta answer me, darling,” Harry says, “gotta use words or we can’t play.” He pulls back a little, bumping their foreheads together.

Louis’s eyes open. His lashes are wet. Jesus. “I’ll try," he says, so fast it’s like one word, before he closes his eyes again. His whole throat pulses with his gulp. Harry runs his tongue over his Adam’s apple.

"Know you can, baby," Harry says. He lets himself grind down once, and it’s _perfect_ , even through two cotton layers, it’s nothing but pure, undiluted _good_ thrumming through his veins as his cock thrusts against Louis’s. “Think of all those times you came against my thigh.” Harry barely keeps himself from thrusting against Louis again. He lets his hard-on just rest against Louis gently, which might be torture (for whom, he isn’t sure), but he wants _Louis_ to be the one rutting up against _him_ , flushed and desperate and wanting. “If you want it, gotta show me.”

Harry settles his hands on Louis’s shoulders, pushing him into the bed, and Louis bucks up so suddenly Harry can’t stop himself from thrusting back for a second, but he stills himself as Louis strains his thighs and searches for the friction with his hips again.

“ _More_.” Louis pouts his lips and whimpers as he finds the sweet pressure point and circles his hips around it as long as he can before his hips drop and he seeks it out again. “More, I—god. _Daddy_.” Louis’s shoulders shake as he breathes out the word, as if it’s being torn out of him. He arches into Harry, who bites his lip so hard while trying to keep still he might draw blood. The pressure of Louis’s cock against his is incredible—Harry knows exactly how he would move his hips to make it perfect, but it’s so much better to see Louis strive for it, to see him try so hard and do so well. 

“So pretty,” Harry tastes the sweat as he mouths along Louis’s neck, feels all of Louis’s muscles tense and tremble beneath his skin, “baby, so good, you’re so good.”

Louis throws his head back onto the pillow and bares his neck to Harry as he bites back a sob and thrusts his hips up desperately. Harry almost comes right then, embarrassingly quick, like he _is_ still sixteen, but it feels like nothing could be embarrassing when Louis’s so responsive and open this way. Harry’s been inside Louis more times than he can count, and vice versa; it’s always amazing but it’s not always this, it’s not always Louis rutting against Harry like their clothed clocks pushing against each other is the only thing he’ll ever need or want. If Harry had to pick only one version of Louis to keep forever, it would be this one, keening and unashamed. 

"Someday I'm gonna make you come on stage,” Harry says without even really thinking. Louis groans and turns his head back and forth, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Pull you between my legs and have you rut against me right there, ‘cause you can’t wait.” Harry runs his hands up Louis’s arms, catches Louis’s cuffed hands in his, and presses them into the bed. Louis’s chest heaves and he thrusts up harder than ever. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby, you’ll forget all the people watching, forget everything but how hard you are for me.”

" _Shit_ ," Louis says. He rocks into Harry with so much force their hips jostle, he’s so fucking _strong_ and hard and panting and Louis, he’s Louis and he’s Harry’s Louis, grinding against Harry like he might die if he stops (Harry might die if he stops). “D-daddy..." Louis’s lips are pouting and full and open all at once, Louis is everything at once and he’s Harry’s, now and always.

Harry licks a stripe up Louis’s neck to his ear. “Anyone who pays any attention is gonna know that you're mine,” he says (or _growls_ , more like), and he bites down hard into the flesh of Louis’s neck.

Louis comes with what he’ll later call a manly shout and Harry will call a sob, arching off the bed and into all the hard lines of Harry’s body. Harry comes right after—he spills into his briefs and immediately remembers why the desperation of it is hotter in theory than in practice, but he doesn’t want to move from where he is, with his eyes drooping with his orgasm, lips mouthing across the purpleish bruise of his teeth on Louis’s neck. Louis is panting into Harry’s neck, Louis’s palms are sweating against his, Louis’s fingers are squeezing Harry’s like one of them will fall off the side of a building if he lets go, Louis is everywhere and everything and Harry never wants anything else.

After a moment Louis groans and turns his head slightly, detaching Harry’s lips from his neck. Harry leans back a little, suddenly conscious of how he’s probably squashing Louis. “Was that okay?" he says. He unlaces his fingers from Louis’s, cradles his face in his hands, and thumbs at Louis’s closed eyes. "The end, I mean... I don't know, I just--"

"Shut up,” Louis says with no malice. He doesn’t open his eyes, just pulls his cuffed wrists down to his chest and breathes heavily with his head leaned back into the pillow for a minute before he continues. “ _Yes_ , Harold,” he says eventually, “Jesus, was it _okay_ , it was—“ Louis opens his eyes and he looks so fucked-out Harry can’t help but smirk. “Shut up, just get these off me so I can cuddle you properly."

“Bossy,” Harry says, but he takes the cuffs off quickly. Louis stretches his wrists for a minute before he braces Harry’s shoulders, rolls on top of him, and straddles his legs. Harry’s pants are sticky and gross and the thought of coming again hurts, but his dick still twitches and his stomach still contracts as Louis lingers over him, gaze so piercing Harry might be starting to blush. 

“Good?” Harry says weakly.

Louis nips at Harry’s ear and rolls his hips against Harry’s. Harry’s pants feel sticky with drying come but his eyes still flutter shut instinctively. “Disgusting,” Louis says into his ear, sounding absolutely delighted. 

Harry swallows. “I am disgustingly in love with you,” he says.

“And a pervert.” Louis kisses Harry’s nose and settles a hand on Harry’s chest. “You’re doing the laundry,” he says, thumbing at the waistband of Harry’s briefs.

Harry’s mouth drops open. “You—“ He sputters for a moment, bites his lip, and shakes his head. “I love you,” he says again.

Louis smirks, twists his fingers in Harry’s hair idly for a moment, then kisses him hard. Just as Harry opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, though, he pulls away and rolls off the bed. He kicks his come-stained pants into the corner and doesn’t look back as he heads into the bathroom, certain Harry will follow.

And Harry does follow—he always has, he always will—but first, he turns off Louis’s phone and puts it in the nightstand drawer. He has some plans for Louis once he’s soap-scented and pliant again, and he doesn’t intend to let anything interfere with those plans.

**Author's Note:**

> i had so many more important things to do with my saturday.


End file.
